CHAPTER 800: 800: DIVINE GAME: CARD SWAP 49

After checking a few more hidden corners around the city, Rita returned to the fountain.

There were less than ten minutes left before the time-freeze ended.

She took all the blue crystals from her backpack and threw them back into the fountain.

That small amount of currency wasn’t worth the risk. Keeping it might draw attention and blow her cover.

She nudged the Cubone to the side and lay down exactly where it had been.

To be more convincing, she scattered some of the blue crystals over herself. After all, the original Cubone had nearly been buried in them.

She double-checked everything using \[Evidence Trace] to ensure there were no mistakes, then used \[Dark Side of the Moon] on the Cubone.

\[Dark Side of the Moon]: What’s on the far side of the moon? Select a target and transport them to the place they fear most.

One turtle in the fountain was enough.

The moment she sent Cubone away, the world came back to life. At the same time, Rita closed her eyes.

...

Once all contestants had entered the azure portal, the glowing gate shut cleanly, then slowly opened again like a curtain—only to shatter instantly into a hundred rectangular screens that hovered above the river.

The strange thing was, no matter where the spectators were seated, each one saw the front side of the screens.

The screens floated in scattered patterns, shifting in size and occasionally switching positions.

But the closer a screen was to the front, the larger it appeared, and the larger the number above the contestant’s head.

The screens were ranked by in-game performance.

Spectators could clearly identify the rankings, and those watching in person could even "pull" a screen toward themselves to get a closer look. Doing so didn’t affect anyone else’s view.

Mistblade had told Rita about this kind of viewing system last year, grumbling the entire time.

Things like, "If concerts had this feature, life would be perfect," or "Wait—Divine Game has a solo-view mode too?" None of it made sense to Rita back then.

Now, Mistblade looked to her friends. "Do you see her anywhere?"

Maple Syrup had already scanned through the hundred screens several times. "Nope."

Fat Goose shook his head. "Nothing."

A nearby adult chuckled. "Moonlight Marsh?"

Other spectators in the same row turned their attention toward the three students. Their eyes landed on their school uniforms—and they all started to smile.

"Ah, Moonlight Marsh."

"Moonlight Marsh."

Their voices weren’t sharp or aggressive. There was even a hint of amusement.

It was teasing, perhaps, but to Mistblade and the others, it felt like a heavy, invisible weight—a pressure born of disappointment and frustration.

It wasn’t aimed at them directly, but somehow it hurt more than open mockery.

Maple Syrup glared coldly at the first person who said "Moonlight Marsh," a tall warrior from the Bladetooth Clan. "What’s wrong with Moonlight Marsh?"

Mistblade and Fat Goose each stared down one of the others.

Mistblade added, "GodDraw77 is from Moonlight Marsh!"

The adults weren’t at all intimidated. They exchanged glances and laughed—at first casually, then with clenched jaws and thinly veiled bitterness.

That made the three students feel even more stifled.

Maple Syrup clenched her fists on her lap. If Rita didn’t show up on one of those hundred screens today, she was going to punch her square in the face when they got back.

Coincidentally, Mistblade and Fat Goose were thinking the same thing.

The minotaur who had been quietly sitting next to Fat Goose finally spoke. "It’s exactly because GodDraw77 came from Moonlight Marsh that everyone feels so let down. Moonlight Marsh used to be different."

There was no anger or sarcasm in his voice—just truth.

"Yeah, it’s been nearly 38 years. Not only has the school failed to produce a new GodDraw77, it hasn’t even won a championship."

"Just falling lower every year."

"We’re not trying to mock you. Sure, you’ve got GodDraw77, but that’s all you have."

"School rankings get reshuffled every six years based on Divine Game points and standings. GodDraw77 can only exempt Moonlight Marsh from six cycles. How many are left?"

"Right. GodDraw77 rose during the 132nd Divine Game. The last exemption was in Kasilanar Year 168—Moonlight Marsh’s final one."

"This year is 170. The next ranking comes in 174. If things keep going like this, Moonlight Marsh will drop out of the top 30 entirely."

The kids stared wide-eyed, stunned. The minotaur sighed.

"She’s not trying to scare you. She’s not even angry at you. It’s just... disappointment."

The blood elf who had spoken the most looked coldly at the trio. "Once Moonlight Marsh is classified as a ’small school,’ it and the Ancient Tree of Wisdom will both be expelled from Asaein."

Everyone in the row fell silent.

The sheer pressure of their resentment felt like a physical presence.

Mistblade, Maple Syrup, and Fat Goose instinctively leaned closer together and grabbed each other’s hands.

Anger? That wasn’t what they were feeling.

They were honestly more worried that if Moonlight Marsh flopped this year, the entire front row might jump them after the broadcast.

...

GodDraw77 sat at the topmost spectator tier along the river—an area with fewer than fifty seats.

The front row was reserved for all living GodDraw77s.

And there were only five such individuals.

In past years, Cinders had always been the only one sitting there, with the heads of 46 academies behind her...

No one truly understood the pressure of being watched by 46 principals.

Especially in recent decades, as Moonlight Marsh had floundered repeatedly, and the viewing experience had grown worse with each cycle.

But what could she do? She still worked at Moonlight Marsh.

At least this year, she had someone to share the misery with—even if that someone was Wail...

Which honestly made it worse.

Their relationship was... complicated.

After she inherited the GodDraw77 title, Lightchaser had been calm. But Wail? Wail kept stealing from her every time they met.

Just like now—she’d only been sitting for half an hour, and her backpack was already missing thousands of gold coins, two pieces of gear, and a drink.

Wail spun the freshly stolen item in her hand—\[Wrong Season]—and frowned. "Why do you have this?"

GodDraw77: "A gift from Lightchaser’s apprentice."

That girl really was something. Even though GodDraw77 had only done her job—nothing more than she owed her students—Rita still insisted on showing gratitude.

Even when the private lessons were just part of a deal.

Even though she had taught Rita partly out of selfishness—for Lightchaser, and for Moonlight Marsh...

That child had seen right through her. But Rita didn’t use that as an excuse to act entitled.

If someone was kind to her, she remembered it. She held onto it.

She wouldn’t let it go lightly.

If only she’d stop sending her those bizarre-tasting candies...

Rita said they were Lightchaser’s "rewards," and she just wanted to share them.

GodDraw77 didn’t have the heart to say no.

It was all Lightchaser’s fault—what kind of person gives a child candy that tastes like burnt mushrooms?